Both of them
by Marian
Summary: Pan hides from the rest of the world in the bathroom. It's hot outside and it seems as if her world was cracking down... She shouldn't be here. They'll tell. Both of them... Both, and that's a problem. But it's not the only one. In fact, her life is only


Sin título ****   
**Both of them, by Màrian**   
  


She looks at her reflection on the mirror, cynic, sceptic. She combs her hair back and sighs, desolated. A few more hours and it'll be finished.   
Resting her hands on the sink, on the cold marble, she observes the image of her face, a way as good any other to let time slip by, a precious time where they are all laughing outside. With a pain face, she arches her back trying to stand taller. It's been hurting her for days. She doesn't know very well how it started, nor why. Perhaps she hurt herself while at work. Too much time on the same position. Perhaps the bed was not as comfortable as she thought at the beginning. Moreover, tiredness makes itself more evident in her circumstances.   
Circumstances that, besides, she should make minimally...   
Blank. Nothing else. Just blank.   
Her mind has its own barriers, and she was about to surpass one of them. She pulls her hair back again, combing it with her fingers and trying to make it look decent. She's let it loose for the occasion and it draws a soft curve around her face, forming a small halo when she moves. It has its own form, they're hopeless. She can't get them to change, while she shoots herself frustration and exasperation looks through the mirror. At last, she gives in, she adjusts mechanically her dress and she makes up a smile, mentally gauging its validity. With one last sigh, she walks out the bathroom and closes the light.   
The music is going on, of course. She hides in the darkness of the corridor, wishing she could stay there until the party finishes, in a safe place, away from looks, light, sickening heat, food and... and them. Both of them.   
She leans on the wall and closes her eyes, trying to control both the feeling of throwing up or the dizziness and the unstoppable wish of run away, flying, through the door of the closest room. Through the window, if necessary. But the closest room is his and it's too, too afar. Moreover, it's late. He, the same he, of piercing eyes and silky hair, from a light purple, that very he has already seen her. He's come to fetch her. He's seen her leave - and she was conscious of that, indeed, she's seen his eyes following her and locked with hers, just for a second, but enough - and he's wondered what she could be doing that was taking her so long. And he's come to pick her up to bring her back there. There's nothing else to it. And she refuses to look for any other reason, afraid that the answer could have anything to do related to them. Like, for example, accompany her for a walk outside. That is just what, sheltered by the heat inside and the high volume of the music, he's just suggested.   
She abandons herself, rested against the wall, looking for a quietude and strength that are missing in her and that she doubts she can recover anytime soon. The house is completely in the dark. In the corridor where he's surprised her there is only a shade of light, coming from the party, diffuse and even fainter and more inconstant. And, though it all, she can see his eyes shine on her, watching her, caring, loving, wanting to absorb her. What even makes her feel worse, lost and alone, with no chance of getting better.   
Blank. Once again. Now she's blocking the memories of the last time when his eyes shone on her like that...   
Blank.   
And he can tell. His eyes reflect his worry. She focuses her attention on his jacket, blue, so elegant, so smooth... Blank. A small one this time. But too many in a row. It's the effect he has on her, after all. She gets to shake her head no, at last, her eyes locked in the nothingness, lost, down. She says, in a whisper, that what she wants to do is to go back to the party. While she wonders what she does want for real. He nods and comments that it's very boring and tiring, the air is too sultry, and puts his arm around her shoulders to accompany her in while he adds that he was starting to get worried about her, that it was taking her a long time and that he was wondering if she would be alright. She nods as well with a shadow of a smile and answers that she was just in the toilet. That she was only tidying her hair.   
As it's obvious, he doesn't buy it as easily as she would have wished and asks her if she's alright, once again with a concerned look. Answering that she is fine, she tries to fake her best smile and gives in under his light embrace, cursing herself she doesn't know very well why, whether because of the courteousness that obliges her to surrender to avoid an offence or because of the undeniable wish of capitulation, or because of the fact that it's so forbidden for her to do so, because of herself. Escorted by the most wanted man in the city - who has, incredibly, chosen h - blank -, she enters discretely the huge room where parties are held in the Cc, her eyes still locked to the ground.   
She doesn't want to think of him. None of them both, indeed. Because, if she did, she thinks, it would, all and all, be so ironical that she wouldn't be able to bear it.   
As if in fast motion, not being able to help it, her mind goes back to him, to her hotshot, her best friend, his face, his incomprehension and hurt gesture when he's seen her appear at the party with the other him.   
She tries to stand straight again and rises her chin, looking at the man that is walking by her side, who is intrigued by her behaviour. She decides that the depression must end and that she will go back to be the Pan she always was, despite of the problems that may came to darken her life. She smiles, the best faked smile she knows, if, it's the first time that there's a doubt, it's faked, staring at his eyes. He smiles back, rising his brows. And she loses her poise. In front of all of them, with more than a pair of eyes staring at them, and, in concrete, with a very special and hurting pair of eyes fixed over them, she asks him to dance with her. Without giving her time for second thoughts, he has already accepted and he's pulling her towards the dance floor.   
She takes a deep breath while they walk towards the centre, her eyes shyly fixed on the man opposite to her to avoid by all means any visual contact with the other one and the feelings that may be going through his mind right then. She feels his hands on her back, his arms around her waist, his shoulder opposite her nose, his face half hidden in her hair, his softly tickling her forehead. With her luck, it was obvious that the song would be a slow one, of course. He guides her flawlessly, with a harmony that she rarely achieves with anyone, fruit of so many hours of training and... ehem... synchronisation one another, without any doubt. And her mind strays. It goes on its own. While she forces herself to get convinced of the fact that nothing is happening, that he's just his friend, that no one else but the two of them notices any further connection between she and the purple-haired man, though they are now dancing together, though she loses her rhythm and stiffs every time that the pressure around her waist varies, no matter how small the variation is. After all, he's the only one who notices the signs of her uncomfortableness and the inescapable excitement that his closeness causes in her. And, perhaps, the winding memories that wash through her mind like alternating and inconstant electrical currents. Her determination washes off bit by bit, remembering by his contact that he is not her 'he'.   
She smiles at him and he smiles back, even cuter than normally, if that's possible, he smiles at her and murmurs that she's gorgeous, while he embraces her tighter and drops a feather kiss on her forehead. She leans closer, hiding her face in the shelter between his shoulder and his neck, and he rests his cheek on her hair. They both sigh unnoticeably while she wonders for the reason, guessing that they both have different ones. Sure, it's very pleasant to be like that, holding each other, slowly rocking with the sound of music. But her sigh was more of desperation and guilty. Hugging him, she lets her barriers drop for some instants, promising, in turn, to be the sweet, happy and easygoing Pan she always was, instead of that depressed, thoughtful and lonely doll she's become in the last week. The same Pan that the ones who loved her loved.   
She considers starting to put order by the beginning, but in her mind appear images of Trunks instead of whom supposed the beginning. Trunks was a beginning indeed. She was just hoping she could go back a bit further.   
Okay. In her head she's dangerously alone in Trunks's room, who she had gone to fetch because she needed a friend, dangerously alone with an object, that should be, as usual, very well hidden, but that today is laying forgotten on the desk. It's not her intention to look what it is. She can imagine that it is some sort of present, jewels, for some girl. Earrings or ring, pin at maximum, the box is pretty small. Her birthday was two months ago, there is no party in sight where Trunks has to give something to her... The present must not be for her. Perhaps it's not even Trunks's. She's intrigued... What could it be...? What would happen if...?   
Her mind jumps under its own will, not hers, to some minutes later. Hours later, in fact. Trunks, naked and embracing her, passionately kissing her, putting the ring around her finger, the perfect ring with the words that have started it all, without asking anything in turn, giving her everything in one only and wonderful night. He puts it around her finger and he kisses her again, and her vision blurs and she forces her trail of thoughts to travel to another moment in time before the wish is too strong.   
In the end, she succeeds. The next afternoon, in her room, happy, digesting what has just happened, Trunks calls, too much time on the line, her fear, his fear, their love, the door rings. It's him. Her boyfriend. Who she already considered her old boyfriend. Though it's obvious that he ignored so and that doesn't shares the feeling. Almost crying, he asks her to forgive him. A stupid fight, he's so sorry, he need her. She realises that she doesn't need her. But she needs the other, she needs him, indeed. And the other? Does he need her? One only night. Marvellous. A friendship of years, solid and firm as very few, as none other for her. Such a trust. She doubts, she needs to think, alone, but he won't leave her, whatever she says. She tries to think, what to do?, a totally wrong decision, and she knows it. But there's nothing else that she can tell her boyfriend, not yet, not before she has some words with Trunks, knowing what meant that night for him, what the whole day meant, knowing something for sure. Because her boyfriend is nice and she likes him and she would consider him enough if Trunks was not in sight. She may not be in love with him, but it's easier to go on than to leave him and go back to be alone, as alone as before. However, she doesn't answer him, she only asks for time, and he takes for granted her forgiveness and the continuity of their affair.   
Guilty. Loneliness. Trunks is busy. He's out on a travel, a whole week. The other one tries to be the best lover in the world, he says so himself, and doesn't notice that she has lost her smile since the blue eyes of her only lover doesn't shine on her and that she knows that he can be no lover to her, let alone the best in the world. She cries. She misses him. And something adds up with her anaemic extenuation. It's something physic. In the beginning, it hurts, as if it had been hit by something. She guesses that Trunks exceeded his hugs, that she made it difficult for him to control his strength and that she must have ended with some sort of bruise. That it's normal, that sometimes it hurts, specially if it's your first time and your partner is that strong. It will end by disappearing. However, it doesn't, but grows and concentrates in an only spot, a very smaller locus. It grows a bit more. She faints. Nobody else notices, but when she wakes up she doesn't have a doubt. It has happened, she's expecting with Trunks's baby. A baby still very small and easily ignorable, but it's there and it's staying. Does she doubt? No, not for a moment. It's her child and, if it wasn't enough, it's Trunks's. Of course it's staying, there's no possible doubt!   
Trunks doesn't phone. Trunks doesn't come back. When he does, at last, she impatiently waits for him, she needs to know, but he's tired and has urgent things to do. His mother makes him stay at the Cc. They're holding a party for him, for some excuse she made up. They're all invited. And she goes, with a beautiful white dress, a heir prince baby in her womb and a young man by her side who she can bear less of every day. Trunks runs towards her, to say hello, to kiss her, who knows what else, but he stops before starting, he's seen him. The other 'he' puts an arm around her waist, almost possessive, and Trunks shoots a glance at her with a mix of hurt and incomprehension. She closes her eyes and breaks down, she goes to the toilet and she cries as a small child until her head hurts so much as if it was going to explode.   
And what it's left to do for her, then? His boyfriend is very close, looking out for her, making his best to convince her of his love, unaware that she couldn't care less, at all.   
Does she owe him respect? What does she owe him?! What can she do...?! The other one is by her side, hugging her, while she's promised herself she'll be the calm Pan she was before. To change, though, she'll need an action plan for the future, to know how to act with both men, what to do. And, since the baby will always be in the middle, it will have to include it in a central and predominating way.   
She needs to take it out. Tell someone about it. She can't wait.   
And there's little time left, the music is about to finish and she's afraid of losing him, that, because of her fault, they lose each other and they don't ever get to touch each other again. Fearing what could happen, she holds him tight against her body.   
She needs to do it, she needs to leave the other one, make him officially her ex.   
But wouldn't this mean that she'd force Trunks a bit too much...?! She wants to be with him but only if he wants to, out of love and not because of a child or because what she could have decided or done with her former lover...   
However... she must leave him, and she must talk to someone about it. And this someone can be no other - she cannot think of anyone else - but Trunks.   
The music ends but he doesn't seem to be disposed to let her go. She doesn't try to free herself either, she's too comfortable between his arms. Her only movement is her hand. With a soft smile on her lips, still hidden on his neck, she moves her hand until it finds his and she entwines her fingers with his. He closes his hand, clasping hers, and his fingers look for hers until they find the ring. Then, he smiles - she can feel his smile against her hair - and kisses her head gently.   
With a weak voice and after a pause, he tells her that he loves her. She pulls apart, taking her head out of its hideaway, until she can see his eyes and nods, telling him that she loves him too, a lot. She can see his smile growing wider as he leans closer to kiss her nose, she smiles back and silently pray for him not to reach down, not to try to kiss her lips. He doesn't, but look towards the other, who is sitting by a table, his eyes locked upon them. She sees his sight and murmurs that it would be better that she went with him, as she tries to move away from his embrace. He doesn't let her go, but keeps her by his side with an arm. Their fingers are still entwined. They both look at the ring for a second and then back at each other's eyes. She feels culpable, sad, she's afraid. In his eyes, yet, there is determination and a confidence that was unknown to her. And she can't say that she isn't surprised. Trunks only seemed determined one night that, if she remembered, it would lead her to one of her voids, blanks, parenthesis that presage nothing nice or important. She can't get her eyes out of him. She can't unlock her sight from his though she tries. If it was possible, he is shining even brighter. His eyes glow on her and his lips draw a soft curve, in a half sweet, half reassuring smile. Reassuring, she thinks, all at once, as if the concept was inconceivable in that moment and context. Reassure. Reassure, isn't it ironic? Secure when she feels lost, she doubts, she twists - or is twisted, mischievous tricks that destiny plays on her -, when the only sure thing she has is the compelling, inexorable passage of time. Her life is a train, a train, with one only railway, that has already departed and that will follow a fixed path, at least a section, without knowing her of the stations that are waiting along. But reassuring what...? She feels as if her life had escaped from her hands, in all. She notes how his hand closes around her, now grasping, protecting, holding her, instead of simply entwining their fingers like before. His other hand embraces her closer to him before appearing, all of a sudden, on her cheek.   
Do you love me...?, he asks, sweetly, doubtful, staring so deep in her eyes that she feels invaded, pierced. Not able to think, she nods straight from the heart and, while he puts his thumb on her lower lip, she wishes she could look at the other, know what he's doing, what he thinks. And what do you care about the other!, she tells herself off. You love Trunks. Yes, another voice answers, inside her, her own voice, but sadder, heavy-hearted. Yes, but you're still going out with the other one. Trunks saw me first, says the first voice. But you didn't have the guts to tell the other one that you didn't want to move back with him. You're a coward, Panny. And that's why you are the way you are now.   
Ah, no. Not the child. The child was a small act of courage. One of the biggest ones, indeed. Having told the man she had liked for years, at last, that she loved him, that... that had been valiant.   
Why does life have to hurt so much, Toran...?, she whispers to the man that has to full her life with happiness, the only one who can, ashamed and sad, implicitly asking for him to do so.   
He shakes his head and kisses her gently on her cheek. He is still strangely sure of himself. And, in the end, she understands why, while he answers her in barely a murmur. Leave him. Leave him. Please, leave him... I don't know why you've come back with him, but... I'm asking you to leave him. We love each other. I love you... I can't bear it... I... I need you. We must be together. Together forever...   
Blank. She knows that it's the last.   
When she recovers conscience, after a blank more physic than psychic, as usual, she's alone in a bedroom, or so she thinks at first. She's laying on Trunks's bed, face upward, still in the white dress. It's still night, it's not been long since it all, then. And she was wrong: with his hair messed up, the jacket taken off and the shirt all crumpled, Trunks is by her side, sleeping on a chair. Smiling softly, she rolls around to face him, grasps his hand, trying not to wake him up, and closes her eyes. Relaxed at last, she lets drowsiness overcome her with the sensation, for first time, that everything will go fine and that, if her life is predestined and that it's not her who controls it, it doesn't matter, Trunks is with her. He's with her, on the train, she can count on him, he can guide her through... He's a part of her. And, all of a sudden, all her fears disappear. She'll leave him, for that's what she has to do. They'll be together...   
She'll do what it takes to be happy, and she knows exactly what it is. She'll do it in the morning...   
They will.   
  


[Homepage][1]   
  


   [1]: http://www.envy.nu/toran



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